


i'll wear your ring on the right hand for a while

by haiplana



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Multi, it's a choose your gender adventure, lesbians but also not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiplana/pseuds/haiplana
Summary: Trixie and Katya have been friends for a long time, and Katya means more to Trixie than she knows. Katya, on a train of uppers, goes from manic to psychotic. She quits her life and returns home, leaving Trixie without a partner and a best friend at the most important time in her life. Trixie has to cope with Katya leaving, Katya’s psychotic anger — and, eventually, Katya’s return.Inspired by "I'll Wear Your Ring", "Seen My Man", and Moving Parts.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	i'll wear your ring on the right hand for a while

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm very new to this fandom and I don't really ship them irl, but I was inspired by some of Trixie's songs from Two Birds that reminded me of the situation that happens in Moving Parts. This sort of follows that timeline but with a lot of changes.
> 
> I used their drag names and she/her pronouns but I tried to keep their genders pretty ambiguous so you can decide if they're women, men, Drag Queens, just performers, whatever you want :).

Storm clouds gather in front of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the neighborhood. A strong breeze that picks up and tumbles through the fallen leaves rattles a broken window screen. The screen thumps rhythmically against the window.

On the other side of the window, the darkness dulls a room with light pink walls, shadows covering the small faces of dolls that line the shelves above a small desk. Their synthetic smiles seem different in the dark, more somber, disappointed. Below them, the desk is relatively uncluttered, practically empty except for one item — a small silver ring, black vines etched into the outside, the inside printed with a pentagram. The only light inside the home glints off of its silver body, coming from the bathroom on the other side of the desk.

A figure stands in the bright bathroom, tall, blonde, her face pressed close to a small mirror as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup. She stands up straight, but her shoulders are still hunched. She looks in the mirror for a long moment, straightens her frilly pink dress, then closes her eyes. She leaves the bathroom, turning the lights off as she goes. The ring stops glinting.

Trixie Mattel emerges from her room, takes the heeled boots that she’s put out for herself and tugs them on. She passes the desk and pauses. She looks down at the ring, and she’s torn, her eyes flashing — anger, hurt, longing. She looks away, picks up the ring, and leaves her room.

She’s late, and she knows it without even checking the time. Her phone buzzes once, twice, three times in her pocket, and it urges her to pick up her pace. She goes out the front door and locks it on the way, descends the front steps of the house and jogs — as best she can — to the dark SUV sitting against the curb. A drop of rain falls at her heel. Trixie wrenches the car door open and jumps inside, just settling into the leather seat when the sky lets loose a sheet of rain. Thunder rumbles.

“Shitty night. The fans are going to get wet.”

Trixie nods and settles herself before looking at her companion in the back seat.

Ginger Minj reaches across the car and puts her hand on Trixie’s arm. “Hey, darlin’.”

“How are you?”

Ginger shrugs. Her phone buzzes and she looks down at the screen.

“What’s that?” Trixie asks.

“Nothing important.” Ginger clicks the lock button on her phone and the screen powers down.

Trixie nods, swallows the lump in her throat. She knows what it is. She shouldn’t have asked.

They drive to the venue in silence, and, once there, Trixie marches through the row of umbrellas keeping her and Ginger from getting wet as they go through the back door. Everyone is running a little bit late, slowed down by the laziness that storms bring on. It’s muggy behind the stage from the doors opening and closing too much. Trixie and Ginger set up in her dressing room, Ginger patting Trixie’s face to keep her heavy makeup from melting off in the heat. Trixie is reminded of why she doesn’t get ready on-site anymore.

A PA comes into the dressing room. “Meet and greet in five.”

“Thank you,” Ginger says. She tugs Trixie up from her chair and tucks a loose blonde curl with the rest of her hair. “You look gorgeous. Get ready to shine, hon.”

Trixie smiles, albeit dimly. “Thanks, Ginge.”

The meet and greet is crowded, as usual. Trixie shakes hands endlessly, doles out hugs and cheek kisses, take more pictures than she can count. With each person comes a different story, all of them revolving around Trixie. Halfway through, she wonders for the hundredth time how a simple, Midwestern kid could ever mean as much to people as she seemed to.

A girl nearly skips toward her. She’s young, and her father trails behind her. “Hi, Trixie!”

“Hey, honey.” Trixie drawls out the word, and the little girl laughs. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Allie, that’s my dad.” She points back at her father, who looks a bit out of his element.

He extends his hand to Trixie. “Dave.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Trixie Mattel.”

“We watch you a lot on TV,” Dave says. “You’re real funny.”

“Dad pretends not to like it, but he’s a big fan,” Allie stage-whispers.

Trixie laughs. “It’s great to meet both of you. Ready for a picture?”

Allie and Dave crowd around Trixie, and then the photographer takes a few photos. Allie looks up at Trixie.

“I’m really excited to see you on _All Stars_. I know you’re going to do great.”

“Thanks. It’s the fans like you that make it as fun as it is. Have a good night, now. Enjoy the show.” Trixie gives her a hug and she skips away.

Dave leans in towards Trixie. “I just wanted to thank you. She’s having a tough time at school, she’s transitioning and the other kids don’t really understand her. You and Katya are such an inspiration to her, you’re making it a lot easier for her.”

Trixie nods and shakes Dave’s hand again before the man joins his daughter and they walk away.

Before the next people walk up, Trixie puts a finger up. She turns away and takes her bottle of water from the table next to her, sipping from the lipstick-stained top. Her heart aches, but her chest feels full. She dabs a tear from the corner of her eye, turns around, and gets ready for the next group.

The stage exhilarates her, the crowd makes her feel at home. The lights are bright but they aren’t overbearing, not when she has her guitar in her hand or when the people in the very back row laugh at something crazy she’s said. She’ll never be able to put the feeling into words, but she knows she’ll always remember it, will be able to sense it in her bones even as she grows old.

She’s coming to the end of her set, only three more songs and a few comedy breaks to go. The set list is projected onto a screen at the front of the stage, and only she can see it. She knows that her set list from other shows has been leaked on Reddit or some gossip site, she knows that the mega-fans in the crowd are expecting her to stick to it, and she never wants to disappoint.

But she looks down at the monitor and sees the title of the next song. _Seen My Man_. Her fingers hover over the strings of her guitar. The chords seem miles away and out of reach.

Trixie puts her hand down and steps towards the microphone. “How many of you got stuck in the rain while waiting for the show to start?” More than half of the crowd shouts out a response. “Wow. You all don’t know how much that means to me. When I was a kid in Wisconsin, and we’d have big rain storms, I’d find my grandfather on the porch watching the rain. I’d be too scared to watch with him, so he’d pull his guitar on his lap and play me a song through the screen door.”

Trixie swallows. She plays a chord on her guitar. “There’s a lot to be scared about or unsure of, and there’s a lot of hurt and loss in our world right now, and we need to make it through the storm. Here’s a reminder that there’s a sunny side, even when the storm seems like it’s never gonna end.”

Trixie starts strumming out the first chords of the upbeat tune. She sings, trying to keep her voice steady. As the song progresses, she regains her strength.

“ _Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side…_ ”

Trixie sits at the mirror in her dressing room. Her makeup is half off, and she loosened the belt on her dress. She stares at the mirror, not looking at anything worldly. She twists the silver ring on her right ring finger.

Ginger appears in the mirror, and the movement startles Trixie out of her trance. Ginger sends her a sympathetic smile.

“I couldn’t do it,” Trixie says. “I just couldn’t.” She continues to worry the ring.

Ginger nods. “That’s okay. What you said was nice.” Ginger steps further into the room and puts her hand on Trixie’s shoulder. “A little change is good.”

“Have you heard from her?”

Ginger shakes her head. “She’s more angry with me than she is you.”

“I wish that were true,” Trixie says.

“I know how you’re feeling. I feel like shit every day. But I was the one that had to do it, no one else would.” Ginger starts packing up Trixie’s things for her. “It was the right thing.”

Trixie is silent. They pack her things and take them to the car. The rain still pours, and it continues on into the night. Trixie hears it pounding on her roof when she gets home, dripping to her gutters with a metallic pang. Each beat makes her heart hurt more.

There are pictures on her wall she just can’t look at. Songs she can’t listen to, messages on her phone she can’t respond to. It took her a week just to stop crying at the mere memory and put it out of her head as best she can, so a concrete reminder is as dangerous as a bomb.

Trixie draws a bath and adds some bubbles smelling of lavender and sage to comfort her. As she soaks in the tub, she scrolls through Twitter. She’s been tagged in a lot of posts, mostly about the show. Some people quoted her words about staying positive through hard times. She notices a few people whose names are “MET TRIXIE ON 1/25/2018” and laughs. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to that.

She retweets a promotional post about _All Stars 3_ and then turns her phone off. She sinks back into the bath so her ears are under the water. Her chest is tight from the water pressure, but the effort is good, makes her feel like her lungs are doing something. The lavender and sage calm her, but the scent becomes too strong, too familiar. It reminds her of cigarette smoke, and cigarette smoke reminds her of—

Trixie takes a breath, but it doesn’t help, of course, and before she can stop herself she gasps out a sob. Her tears come fast and they mix with the bath water. Trixie fully submerges her head and rubs at her eyes, holds her breath to try and stop crying. The water is warm, like the pool in Palm Springs at the house they rented the summer before last. Trixie breaks the surface and cries harder.

_“Come on, mama, get off your phone. It’s vacation_. _”_

_Trixie holds up a finger. “I’m just responding to a fan.”_

_“You respond to fans more than you respond to me and Ginger,” Katya says. She leans over the side of the pool and splashes water towards Trixie. “Your adoring fans will still be there after you relax.”_

_“_ Our _fans.” Trixie tucks her phone under her towel to keep it from overheating, fully aware that she’ll forget that it’s there and knock it to the ground the next time she picks up her towel. She runs toward the pool at full speed and jumps over Katya, who ducks._

_The water splashes and bubbles pop around Trixie ears. She stays under the water for a moment, until Katya pulls her up by her arms._

_“Don’t want you drowning,” Katya says when Trixie surfaces, laughing._

_“I can swim just fine on my own.”_

_Trixie lays back and floats on the water. Katya stands over her, watching her. Trixie turns her head and stares at Katya._

_“Why are you watching me?” Trixie asks._

_Katya throws her hands up. “Sorry, I’ll stop.” She dives into the water and starts swimming away. Trixie stops floating and starts paddling, following Katya. She catches up to her and pulls her leg back, pushing her further under the water. Katya breaks the surface and sputters. “Hey!”_

_She lunges for Trixie and dunks her under the water. Trixie surfaces, smiles devilishly. “You don’t know what you started.”_

_Katya’s eyes widen, and she starts swimming away._

_Hours later, they’re setting up their takeout meal on the table in the backyard. The sun is setting, casting a lavender glow over the sky. The silhouettes of palm trees rattle in the breeze._

_Trixie does most of the work while Katya sits at the table, typing away on her phone, her feet propped up on the chair next to her. Trixie puts out the food, dropping Katya’s meal in front of her to get her attention._

_Katya puts her phone down and sits up. “Hey, thanks.”_

_Trixie wants to make some snide comment about Katya and her phone, but she decides not to. She has some other stuff to tell her, and she doesn’t want to delay it._

_Katya is already shoveling salad into her mouth. Trixie starts picking at her food. She feels suspicious, and she knows she looks it, too, but Katya’s too absorbed in her food to notice. Trixie opens her mouth to speak, but Katya beats her to it._

_“Would you hate me if I, uh, skipped out on you tonight?” Katya asks. Trixie’s brows knit together. “I’ve been chatting with someone, and they’re super hot. Let me tell you, Mary, they’re, like, Australian-klepto-level hot.”_

_Trixie swallows. “Wow, that’s a big deal.”_

_“Yeah. So, it’s cool?”_

_“Sure.” Trixie nods. “Cool.”_

_Katya smiles her big, perfect smile. Trixie’s heart sinks. “When was the last time you opened Tinder? Now’s a great time. Want me to help you spice up your profile?”_

_“I happen to think my profile is great.”_

_“Oh, so you’ve changed it since the last time I swiped left on you?” Katya asks, her face as sincere as she can keep it. Trixie doesn’t answer, and Katya bursts out laughing. Trixie smiles at the sound._

_When Katya calms down, Trixie puts her fork down. “So I wanted to tell you something.”_

_For all of Katya’s energy and antics, she knows when to be serious. She knows when Trixie needs her full attention. “What’s up?”_

_Trixie thinks carefully about her next words. There are so many things that she could say, hundreds of ways to phrase it, half of which she’s already tried out in her head._ I want to be with you _and_ I need you to know how much I love you.

_“I’m going away for a while,” is what she says instead._

_“Oh?”_

_Trixie smiles. It hurts. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I got called for_ All Stars 3 _.”_

_“Mama, that’s amazing!” Katya leaps from her chair and goes around the table to wrap Trixie in a hug. “Have they given you a list of the challenges? What’s your finale outfit gonna be? Ooh, I wanna pick it out.”_

_“I don’t know, geez, Barbara. I probably won’t even make it that far.”_

_Katya scoffs. “Come on, if I did it, you definitely will.”_

_Trixie wants to argue with her, but she knows Katya is right. Katya is brilliant, a great performer with an eye for design and a wit for comedy. But, Trixie has spent the last three years honing her craft. She’s been successful being her big, Barbie self. She definitely brings the uniqueness; she just hopes she also has the charisma, nerve, and talent._

_“I’m really excited,” Trixie says. She melts into Katya’s arms, feels her smile pressing her chin into the top of her head._

_“This is going to be so good for you.”_

_They finish dinner, and Katya cleans up. Trixie sits on the sofa and waits for her to be done. She has Netflix already open on the TV and ready for Katya to pick their next movie. The kitchen goes silent for a while, and Trixie thinks she hears water running. A few minutes later, Katya comes into the living room in a cute pair of joggers and a tank top._

_“Catch.” Katya tosses something at Trixie, and Trixie barely catches it. She looks at what it is — Katya’s silver ring with vines etched into the outside, a pentagram on the inside. Katya swears that a master of the occult gave it to her when she was twenty; Trixie remembers seeing three exact copies on a boardwalk during their trip to New Jersey. Trixie looks back up at Katya, and she understands why Katya showered. “Keep it safe for me?”_

_Trixie nods, and Katya smiles and leaves the house. Trixie sighs. She looks down at the ring, laughs a bit at the memory, and then slips it on her ring finger. Her stomach tingles with butterflies. If only…_

_She puts on_ Schitt’s Creek _episodes that she’s already seen and looks at her phone until she falls asleep on the sofa._

 _Katya forgets to ask Trixie for the ring the next morning. Trixie doesn’t remember it, either, until she’s packing for_ All Stars _and sees it at the bottom of her backpack. She slips it on her right ring finger and doesn’t take it off until the first runway._

They have an _All Stars_ press stop in New York and Trixie’s dreading it. She’s only spending 25 hours there, and then she starts her tour. The last thing she wants to do is kick off her tour exhausted from press junkets. Too much socialization, too much walking and posing and clamoring journalists prying for answers they know they’re not going to get.

She’s reminded of the good part of press stops when she sees Dela and Shangela in the lobby. They give her tight hugs and remind her that some friends do stay the same.

“Is everyone else here?” Trixie asks.

Dela nods. “You’re the last one.”

“Sounds about right,” Shangela says. Trixie swats her on the arm.

“How are you doing?” Dela asks. Trixie shrugs.

They finish checking in, and the concierge gives them each a mimosa. Dela sips hers slowly, and Shangela clinks her glass against Trixie’s before taking a big gulp. Trixie downs half of hers on the first go and pretends not to notice Dela’s concerned gaze. They take the elevator up to their suites, making casual conversation as they go.

Trixie’s suite is two doors down from Shangela and across the hall from Dela. Shangela pats them both on the shoulder.

“See you soon, ladies,” she says, and then she goes into her room.

Trixie nods at Dela and swipes the card to go into the room.

She’s hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong it almost knocks her off of her feet. She’s stayed in this hotel once before, when she and Katya did press for their own show. She’s half expecting Katya to step out of the bathroom and poke her in the stomach until she can’t breathe anymore.

She finds herself alone, and still breathless.

It’s quarter to five, her makeup is done and she’s working on her hair, when her phone buzzes with a text from Ginger. Trixie stares down at it, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

**Ginger Minj:** _Don’t go on Twitter._

Trixie’s about to open Twitter, but she texts Ginger back first.

 **Trixie Mattel:** _That’s literally the worst way to keep someone from going on Twitter._

She opens the app and finds she’s tagged in a new article. She groans at the headline and calls Ginger.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“‘Trixie Mattel Keeps Things Bright Three Weeks After Pal Katya Steps Back.’ What kind of bullshit is this?” Trixie sounds angry, but really she’s exasperated.

She knows the public and the tabloids are going to spin this situation any way they want. Some will say Katya got sick of Trixie’s superiority complex, others will say Trixie kicked Katya off of the show. They don’t even know the half of what was going on, their theories barely scratching the surface when the real wound is so deep Trixie isn’t sure it’ll ever mend.

“ _I’m sorry, darlin’. We knew this was gonna happen,_ ” Ginger says.

“That doesn’t make it feel much better.” She drops her head into her hand. “I miss her,” she whispers.

She hears Ginger sniffle in the background. “ _It’s almost time for your junket. I’ll call you after_.”

“Bye.”

The line cuts off. Trixie has been leaning on Ginger through all of this — she’s the only other person who knows the full truth about it all. Trixie’s heart hurts again, this time because she realizes how much Ginger is going through, too. She and Katya were close before season seven ended, before Trixie and Katya started talking over the phone.

Trixie rushes to finish getting ready, and she almost forgets her phone on her way out the door. She’s the last one, again, and the group is waiting for her in the lobby. Kennedy Davenport is the first to spot her.

“Come on, girl, it’s time to go.” She turns to the others. “Hurry up, Trixie’s here, move, move! I don’t wanna be in these heels for longer than I have to, and neither do you, Miss Shangela.”

They all pile into cars that take them to the convention center, where fans and press alike clamor for their attention. The interviews start almost instantly — group interviews, pairs, solos. Trixie speaks to a reporter with Morgan McMichaels; she and Shangela pair up with Thorgy Thor and Chi Chi Devayne to speak to a group of press. The group interviews are the most chaotic, everyone talking over each other and trying not to spoil anything. But, what Trixie dreads the most is the solo interviews, because she knows what the topic of conversation will be.

Most of the girls are in a reserved room waiting for the others to finish. It’s nearly eleven and Kennedy is already barefoot. Trixie would be, too, if she thought she could get her shoes back on after she took them off.

Dela walks into the back room, and they all ask her how it went.

“Wild, as usual,” she says.

“Girl, they don’t know what they have coming with you,” Aja says. Dela cringes.

Trixie stares into the corner, not really paying attention. Kennedy notices.

“Trixie.” Kennedy stands over her and waits for her to look up. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Normally, Trixie would tell a half-truth and go back to sulking. She doesn’t want to think about it anymore, but it’s been brought up so many times that it won’t be going away any time soon.

“They asked about Katya so many times.” Her voice is quiet, but the rest of the room goes silent and lets her speak. “I just wish they wouldn’t ask about her. They don’t know what’s going on.”

Kennedy nods. “It’s her privacy.”

“And no one seems to care,” Trixie says.

She doesn’t speak for the rest of the night.

_Trixie’s phone buzzes on the bed beside her head, and she groans. She keeps it there so it can wake her up if there’s an emergency — a practical choice, but she’s regretting it now. She checks the time on her bedside clock. It’s 3:00 in the morning; she’s been asleep only for two hours, but it feels like two minutes to her exhausted brain._

_She forgets to answer the phone, and it stops buzzing, but starts again a minute later. She picks it up this time. Katya’s name is on the screen right next to the awful, dorky picture she took on Trixie’s phone two years ago._

_“Katya?”_

_“_ We should go on David Letterman _,” Katya says over the line._

_Trixie sits up. “What? That show ended years ago— what are you doing?”_

_“_ I’m just watching old late-nights and trying to learn marketing. Should I sign up for online classes? _”_

_“You already went to college.”_

_“_ That’s true. Too much debt. _” Katya laughs. “_ How are you, Brenda? _”_

_Trixie sighs. “I’m tired, Katya. This is the third night in a row you’ve called me.”_

_“_ Is it? I didn’t even realize. I’m sorry, Trix, I just miss you. _”_

_“You saw me yesterday, and you're seeing me tomorrow.”_

_“_ I can still miss you, _” Katya says._

_“I miss you, too.” Trixie takes a deep breath. She hears Katya typing in the background. “Are you okay?”_

_“_ Fine, good, never better. _”_

_Trixie doesn’t believe her. “Okay, get some rest. Please. We have a long shooting day tomorrow.”_

_“_ Goodnight, mama, _” Katya says. She hangs up._

_They shoot more episodes of their variety show the next morning, and Katya looks like she hasn’t slept. She’s in sweats and her makeup isn’t on. Trixie is already dressed._

_Katya gets ready quickly, frantically, almost. Trixie watches through the mirror, and she notices what Katya’s arm looks like. She sees the track marks._

_Katya finishes getting ready, and she pulls Trixie into a hug before they leave the dressing room._

_“I love you, Trixie.”_

_“I love you, Katya,” Trixie says._

_They barely get through the shoot. Katya has to stop for extra smoke breaks, she constantly needs water. Trixie can tell she’s jittery and nervous. She always questions her words, has outbursts, and she keeps looking at Trixie as though she needs saving._

_Katya starts panicking — Trixie sees it in her eyes even in the camera monitor — and she runs outside for another smoke break. Trixie gets up, too and she follows Katya out._

_Katya’s eyes are wide, and she shakes her head. “I can’t— I’m sorry, it’s not personal, I just can’t talk right now. I need to be alone.”_

_“Katya, please, you’re not okay. Just tell me what I need to do,” Trixie says._

_“Nothing, I’m good, just space.”_

_Trixie thinks she’ll never forget the harrowing look in Katya’s eyes. She goes back inside._

_Ginger is waiting for her in the hallway, brow creased with concern. She catches Trixie’s arm and pulls her into the dressing room, away from the crew._

_“She hasn’t slept in days, Ginger,” Trixie says. “She’s called me every night.”_

_“I know. She texts me all night.”_

_“I don’t think she wants to tell me what’s going on.”_

_Ginger nods. “We all know what’s going on.” She puts her hand on Trixie’s knee. “Listen, Trixie, I need to get people involved. You know I need to.”_

_“She’ll be upset,” Trixie says._

_“It doesn’t matter. She needs help, and we can’t be the ones to get it for her,” Ginger says. “I need you to let me.”_

_“No.” Trixie shakes her head. “Don’t put this on me. Please.”_

_“Trixie, I need your help on this. You know her best. I can’t do anything to help her without your approval.”_

_Down the hallway, Katya clamors and yells at one of the crew._

_Trixie nods._

_The next time Katya calls her in the middle of the night, it’s not because she misses her._

_“_ You did this to me. _”_

_“Did what?” Trixie asks. Her brain is struggling to catch up._

_“_ You know what you did, you fucking bitch. You called them. _” Katya laughs bitterly. “_ If you wanted me out of your life, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to get me sent away. _”_

_“Katya, I didn’t do anything, but you need help. You’re not okay.” Trixie doesn’t realize that she’s crying until her phone slides over her cheek uncomfortably. “I need you to be okay, Katya, for you and for me. Please.”_

_It’s like Katya doesn’t hear her. “_ You got what you fucking wanted, Trixie Mattel. I’m gone. _”_

_Katya hangs up._

_Trixie hugs her knees and sobs until sunrise._

Trixie has many regrets.

When she was seven, she purposely tripped a boy at recess. He fell, broke his arm, and chipped a tooth. His face was swollen for weeks after it happened, and all the other kids bullied him. Trixie denied tripping him, she said he was running and lost his balance, but the boy knew. He knew the truth, and he never told, because he was kind. Trixie regretted doing it for years.

In some ways, Trixie regrets agreeing to _All Stars_. Sure, she’s excited to prove herself after her last go on the regular style-and-variety TV show, and nothing beats the feeling of spending months with a bunch of other girls like her — even if they did have petty fights. She doesn't even mind being in the public’s eye again, constantly scrutinized by people who aren’t even qualified to judge her. All of it will pay off in the end, she knows, because she has a fifty percent chance of winning; no amount of fan critique can take that away.

The worst part of _All Stars_ , however, the thing she most regrets, is that she had to leave for months without access to her phone and the outside world. She had to leave the comfort of her own home to live in a hotel room, practically living out of a suitcase the whole time. She didn’t bring nearly enough clothes — for filming and for after — and she didn’t want to pay to get her laundry done at the hotel.

And, worst of all, she had to put filming her show with Katya on pause, leaving Katya to her own devices and without any way to communicate her.

That proved to be her biggest mistake yet.

Katya is a person that needs routine; Trixie knows this, because she’s been building a routine around Katya, with Katya. She met Katya when she was sober, and she picked up on Katya’s coping habits pretty quickly, adjusted to them and encouraged them. She created a joint schedule for her and Katya so they could be on the same page as much as possible, and so Trixie could check up on her every once in a while to make sure she was sticking to the routine but not overworking herself. Trixie bought her cigarettes late at night, took her out to get food when she was craving a high; Trixie did everything right.

Then, she left for _All Stars_.

That was almost a year ago; now, it’s the night of the premier and Katya is gone. There’s no celebrating Trixie’s triumphant return to television, no cigarette runs or food trips, just a bar watch party that Trixie doesn’t want to go to. She had dreamed of spending every Friday night on her sofa with Katya, holding her feet in her lap as Katya reclined on the sofa and drank a RedBull.

Trixie doesn’t have to perform at the bar, and she’s thankful, because she doesn’t feel like performing tonight. The fight has been taken out of her. She feels like a shell being tossed about in the surf, landing wherever the tide decides it should land. She doesn’t mind it, really. Someone else can make the decisions for her.

She and Ginger get to the bar right before the show premiers, and they go through the back door and tuck into the seats reserved for the performers, near the back but with the best view of the screen. The bar is filled, nearly over the code, and it exhilarates Trixie as much as her mind will let it.

She’s nervous, honestly, because her new song is premiering on the episode, and she’s sung in front of audiences before, obviously, but this song means more to her than anyone knows.

They get through the introductions, and she can’t help but cringe at her antics even though the rest of the bar laughs. Morgan announces she’s going to eliminate the strongest competition, and the crowd goes crazy. Watching the reactions real-time is a surreal experience, almost comical.

They get through the talent show part, and when Trixie finishes her song the bar goes crazy with applause. Ginger tears up next to her. They have deliberations, a lip-synch, and then Dela sends Morgan home. The crowd approves. Trixie says hi to the performers and some people in the bar. She’s not really dressed the part, but no one seems to care. She goes home satisfied, but it doesn’t feel right.

It’ll never feel right.

Her first show after the premier is in Dallas. The flight isn’t very long, but it’s bumpy. Ginger clings tightly to her arm, and when they deplane, Trixie has red marks on her skin. As an apology, Ginger buys her a cinnamon roll.

Alyssa Edwards offered to pick them up from the airport, which came as a surprise to Trixie, but she remembered that Alyssa and Ginger knew each other well, and Alyssa was always very generous. At baggage claim, Ginger gets a text from Alyssa — she’s running late, but she’ll be there by the time they get their bags.

“She’d better not be speeding in that little car,” Ginger mutters.

Trixie’s pink bag comes, and she reaches down to get it. It has black marks on it from the belt. She tries rubbing them off.

Ginger laughs. “I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish, darlin’.”

“This was a thousand dollars,” Trixie says.

“That’s what you get for wasting that much money.” Ginger lifts her old suitcase off of the belt. “Alyssa’s here.”

They walk outside of the doors and into the arrivals area. Texas is cold in late January — it doesn’t warrant a heavy coat, but Trixie is uncomfortable in her short sleeves. She shivers.

Alyssa’s blue Mercedes sport roars up to the curb and grumbles idly when she puts the car in park. She gets out, and Trixie laughs at her outfit: a light blue blazer with comic book exclamations on it, a white t-shirt, and grey shorts. It’s very Alyssa.

“Hello, darlings! Welcome to my home!” She rounds the car and pulls Ginger into a hug, then hugs Trixie. “Give me your stuff, come on, and we’ll get going.”

Trixie sits in the back seat so Ginger and Alyssa can catch up. The trunk thuds, and then Alyssa is behind the wheel, gearing up the car and speeding away from the curb. She and Ginger speak, their different southern drawls mixing comically. Trixie likes listening to it absently as she watches the sprawling city fly by them.

“I saw the premier, Miss Trixie. You did great,” Alyssa says.

“Thank you.”

Alyssa looks at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m so glad you’re doing a show here. I got tickets for some of my kids to see, they’re big fans of you and…”

“That’s sweet.” Trixie swallows thickly. She doesn’t pay much attention the rest of the ride.

They get to the airport and Alyssa pulls under the portico. The bellhops take Trixie and Ginger’s bags out of the car.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Ginger says. She hugs Alyssa.

Trixie hugs Alyssa and kisses her on the cheek. “It means a lot.”

“I’ll see you tonight, lady,” Alyssa says, and she winks at them before leaving.

Trixie takes a nap until her show — there’s nothing better to do — and Ginger wakes her up when it’s time for her to eat and get ready. She’s not really hungry, but Ginger nearly forces food down her throat. She watches TV while Trixie does her makeup, skipping through sitcom reruns and news reports.

Lighthearted music plays from Trixie’s phone, and she hums along absently as she does her makeup. She does the primer, foundation, and then starts on her wild eyes. She’s halfway through a big stroke of eyeliner when the music lowers for a moment, then returns. It happens again and again, to the point that the song changes and Trixie doesn’t even know.

She puts her liner brush down and taps her phone screen.

“Fuck.”

The breath is sucked out of her lungs so fast she thinks she might die on the spot. It takes all the self control she can muster not to cry, only to preserve the makeup she’s worked so hard on.

She picks up her phone slowly, gripping it so tight her fingers are white. It unlocks, opening the message from Katya.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** _I just watched all stars._

**Katya Zamolodchikova:** _Girl you about to kill your whole damn career. That episode was fucking awful for you._

**Katya Zamolodchikova:** _What the fuck is wrong with you???_

She won’t read the rest.

Trixie calls out to Ginger, but it’s an afterthought. She doesn’t even hear it in real time. Her breathing is too fast, it’s too loud. Her phone keeps dinging, the music gone now. Ginger wrenches the phone from her hand.

She’s not sure how she finishes her makeup, does her hair, gets dressed. She doesn’t care.

The show is a blur, and she shakes through it. Her jokes are funny and the crowd laughs — she must be a great actor because they’re buying that her heart is in it. It’s not.

When she gets towards the end, time stops again, because _Seen My Man_ is on the monitor and it hurts a thousand times more than it did before. She’s been changing the song every show before this one, and the band is getting frustrated; even Ginger had to gently insist that she stick to the set list. Trixie steeled herself, practiced it alone over and over again, and she thought she was ready.

Now, she isn’t.

Katya’s ring glints in the light. It’s on her right ring finger.

A tear rolls down Trixie’s cheek, and she hopes the audience can’t see it. There’s a short set-up to the song, but it’s too much. They’ll get what they get. Her hand moves, and she barely hears the first chords that she plays. The band picks up behind her.

“ _Seeming when I’m older that it’s younger how I feel._ ”

One line in, and Trixie’s voice starts to shake. She fights it, tries to get through it. They’re not even at _that_ part yet.

“ _Second place adorns you no matter where you go._ ”

The audience is enraptured. Trixie loves her fans, but for the first time, she can’t stand them. Do they know what’s coming? Do they know what this means to her? Can they see the tremble in her lip, the quiver of her tongue over the word she doesn’t want to say?

“ _Well I’ve been out to Austin, back to Boston, where I’ve been…_ ”

She keeps singing, but her mind plays that line on a loop. Boston.

Alyssa is in the front row, surrounded by young girls and boys dressed well. Trixie sees Alyssa scrunch her eyes closed. She understands.

“ _Has anybody out there seen my man?_ ”

Even when the song is over, when the crowds have gone and the band has packed up, she can’t stop thinking.

Boston.

All Stars _films practically in Trixie’s backyard. It’s on a nondescript television lot in LA, and they rotate which hotel they rent for the queens, but Trixie basically knows all of them._

_Still, Katya insists on picking her up after the last day of filming, as though she’s been on a journey around the world._

_Trixie waits in the lobby of the hotel, staying in the air conditioning to keep from sweating through her clothes. She hasn’t seen Katya in months, and even though she’s dead-tired and wants to sleep for the next week, she still wants to look_ good. _Not that she cares what Katya thinks of her, she knows her friend loves her no matter what. But her hope has been growing the more she’s talked to the other girls — they don’t know she loves Katya, but all they talked about for months was how much Katya adored Trixie, and Trixie thinks if other people see it, then maybe it’s real._

_It’ll never be real. She’s getting so far ahead of herself._

_She looks outside the glass revolving door and sees Katya pull up through the hotel driveway. Trixie dashes out of her seat and into the open air. Katya borrowed Ginger’s white pickup truck, and through the window Trixie can see her wearing jeans and a flannel, open over a white shirt, like she matched her outfit to the car. She looks so country, and it’s so wrong but so right. The backwoods Wisconsin kid in her falls for Katya all over again._

_Trixie tosses her bags into the bed of the truck and then climbs into the passenger seat._

_“Welcome home, mama!” Katya shouts._

_“I never even left the—”_

_The words are barely out of Trixie’s mouth before Katya’s lips press against her own. It happens for four seconds, maybe longer, and then Katya is sitting back in her seat, hands on the wheel and shifting the gear to drive._

_“I’m so excited,” Katya says, “I have so much to tell you. I know you’re tired, but I planned a whole day for you. Ginger and Ella and Jen and everyone are at the house and we have food and drinks ready for you. Brenda, you don’t even know what I’ve been doing since you left. I’m knitting — isn’t that weird — just trying to keep my hands busy, you know?”_

_Trixie and Katya have kissed before, mostly on camera as a joke, once when Trixie was drunk and missed Katya’s cheek, hitting her mouth instead. But Katya has never_ kissed _her._

_Katya takes a cigarette out of a packet in the cupholder and lights it when they stop at a stop sign. The smell is so intense it threatens to choke Trixie, but she doesn’t mind because it’sfamiliar, comforting. Katya continues talking about anything and everything. Trixie doesn’t speak, only nods along._

_She’s afraid that if she moves her lips, they’ll forget what Katya’s kiss feels like._

Eight cities later, Trixie is struggling to sleep in a lumpy hotel bed. They’re in Pittsburgh, making their way towards the East Coast, but they’re still doing some Midwestern cities as they go. She thinks she’s been asleep for hours, but she’s woken up every twenty minutes, so it totals up to practically nothing. She groans and turns on her side, hoping that this time, she’ll actually fall asleep.

Trixie thinks she’s asleep when her phone buzzes, and in her mind she pretends to answer the phone. Even after she does that, it buzzes, and she jolts awake. She picks up the phone, and suddenly she thinks she’s fallen into some time-warping wormhole, because Katya’s picture is on the screen and her name scrolls at the top.

She debates answering it, mostly because she isn’t sure it’s real. The last time Katya contacted her, she had a panic attack and lost two hours of memory because she spiraled, hard. She’s at a place where she can play her whole set with only a dull ache in her heart, and she hasn’t cried in weeks.

She looks at Katya’s goofy face and her finger hits accept before her mind tells it not to. She’s silent for a moment, and she hears rustling on the other end.

“ _Trixie?_ ” Katya sounds nervous and shaky, like she’s holding back tears. “ _Are you there?_ ”

Trixie closes her eyes. “I’m here.”

“ _I was really hoping you’d answer. I tried to remember your tour schedule, but I got the days mixed up. Is it late?_ ”

“A little.”

Katya makes a noise in her throat. “ _Ah, sorry. This is really the only time I can talk, I just got my phone back for an hour._ ”

“Katya, where are you?” Trixie asks.

“ _I’m in Arizona. My parents checked me into a facility down here, they said it was a good one._ ”

Trixie’s hand shakes. “Is it?”

“ _I like it. It’s different from the other ones. I don’t feel like a kid, you know? I’m an adult._ ” Katya laughs. “ _Just an adult with a meth addiction and a chemically-fucked up brain. Which basically means I’m a child._ ”

Trixie gets as close to a laugh as she can.

“I’m glad to hear your voice. I was worried,” Trixie says.

“ _Yeah, I’m sorry about those texts. I just read them. I didn’t even know I said that._ ” Katya sighs. “ _I never meant it. I don’t._ ”

Trixie isn’t sure how to respond. “Okay.”

“ _You know, we aren’t allowed to watch television that much, but I told everyone my amazing and talented best friend was on a reality competition show, so they put it on every Friday. They all love you, you’re a house favorite._ ”

“Tell them I say thanks.”

“ _I will._ ” Katya shifts the phone to try and hide her sniffle, but Trixie still hears it. “ _Hey, Trix? How did you know I was using again?_ ”

Trixie takes a long breath and leans back. She can’t lie — she doesn’t want to, too much has happened, and if their friendship doesn’t survive, at least Trixie never lied, even to the end.

“That day you picked me up after _All Stars_ filming. I knew something was up because you were going three miles a minute and— you kissed me.”

Katya is quiet, and Trixie is worried the call dropped because Katya is never this quiet.

“ _I mean, you were right, I was on stuff. But it wasn’t what you think—_ ” She drops out for a second. “ _Oh, dammit. Trixie, I have to go, my time is up. I, uh, I miss you, Barbara. Good luck on your tour._ ”

“Thanks, Katya,” Trixie says.

She hangs up before Katya can say anything else. She’s not sure when she’ll hear from Katya next — and for some strange reason, she’s not sure she wants to care.

It’s a Friday night, and while half the country watches Dela eliminate herself from _All Stars_ , Trixie is alone in her hotel room. It’s nearing the end of the tour, and she’s happy to be on her own for a few hours, even if it leaves her to the depths of her mind. She hasn’t thought about Katya in days — well, hours, but she won’t admit that — but now it’s getting harder to keep all of it from her mind.

She twists the silver ring on her finger.

It sounds cliche, but writing songs really does help in a hard time. Does it fix everything? No, of course not; if anything, writing a song about a break up or a loss forces you to think about it more because you have to labor tirelessly over every single word just to get the feelings across. What really helps, though, is playing it for other people, letting them share in your heartbreak, if only for two and a half minutes. You get to take the weight off of your shoulders and let others help you carry it.

Trixie gets up from her bed and goes to the desk. She pulls out one of the cheap stationary pads and the awful little pen and readies herself to write.

Right now, Trixie needs help carrying this weight. It was easier before Katya called her, when she could just be sad and hurt, when she could take a little time to be the victim and then come to her senses. It isn’t Katya’s fault, necessarily — addiction is hard to beat, it takes over your whole body and mind and tears you apart, inside and out. But it tore Trixie apart, too, and it’s hard not to be mad about it.

Putting the situation into just a few words is hard. She wants to write the chorus first, because it’s that little summary that weaves all the strings together neatly. Trixie loves Katya, and she’s sure she’ll never stop loving her, no matter how hard; she just doesn’t know whether Katya will still love her, will ever love her the way she wants to be loved by Katya. She’s not sure she’s even good for Katya at this point.

Trixie twirls Katya’s ring again, straightens up in the chair.

She scrawls a title at the top of the page.

 _I’ll Wear Your Ring_.

The night of the _All Stars_ finale, Trixie is at a bar in Los Angeles surrounded by all of her friends. She’s set up on a stage with her own screen, Ginger next to her, so that everyone can watch her reaction. It’s all she can do to keep herself from cringing at every moment.

Watching herself on TV isn’t really her favorite thing.

She can't lie, though, she looked fantastic for the _Kitty Girl_ performance and her verse was one of the best. Also, she made a great case for why the eliminated contestants should send her to the final lip-synch. For a moment, she considers a career change, but remembers that law school is hard and she enjoys being an entertainer more than she would an office job.

When Shangela isn’t picked for the lip-synch, the bar gasps, as does the Trixie on screen. Trixie watches herself get ready for the final moments, remembers the shaking of her legs that almost ruined her performance. Kennedy leaps and flips in the background, but Trixie gives a harrowing rendition. Then, it’s over.

She’s leaning forward as RuPaul stalls in announcing his decision. _Please, be a tie, at least_ , Trixie thinks, convinced she’s not going to win.

“Trixie Mattel.”

The crowd goes crazy. The air is sucked out of Trixie’s lungs, but in the best way, because she’s won _All Stars_.

Trixie doesn’t know how to react. Sure, she had to pretend like she won months ago just so it could be broadcast on the screen. But she never really expected it, deep down. Here she is, a winner, a hall-of-famer. Tears roll down her cheeks. Ginger pulls her into a big hug. The whole bar descends upon her to get a glimpse of the new winner. Drinks are flowing — she gets three shots within a minute, and there’s more to come. They’re already playing _Kitty Girl_ again.

Trixie gets lost in the crowd, the excitement, the alcohol. The lights go out, and it’s officially a party.

Four drinks in, Trixie’s at the bar with someone with pretty blue-green eyes, and she’s leaning over them to pick up her drink from the bartender. Suggestively? Trixie won’t lie to herself; she’s a winner, she feels like one, and she wants to act like one.

They go on the floor to dance, pressed so close together that Trixie isn’t sure she’s the one holding herself upright. The bar plays the obligatory _All Stars 2_ finale song, and Trixie throws her hips left and right to the deep bass. They all sing along to Alaska’s verse, half the room booty-drops as Detox punctuates her ‘x’.

Trixie raps along with every word. “ _Ykaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova_.” Her pronunciation is perfect, having listened to Katya say it a million and one times, loving the way the words rolled off of her tongue. She forgets how much it hurts, just for a little, laughs when Katya’s verse becomes just _so_ Katya.

Then it’s over, and Trixie’s heartbreak slips past the alcohol, just for a moment. She washes it back down with another shot and kisses the person in front of her.

The next morning, her chest aches with guilt almost as much as her head does with hangover. She wakes up at seven, the most annoying side-effect of her hangovers, and hobbles into her kitchen. She scrambles some eggs and throws them in a pan, cooks them, dumps them on a plate. She’d drink orange juice with them, but she had too many fruit juice mixers the night before.

Trixie settles on the sofa, plate of eggs in hand, and she turns on the TV. There’s nothing on, really, so she decides to watch reruns of her and Katya’s show. Just to stoke the fires of guilt. Every time Katya laughs at something so hysterically she wheezes and falls off of her chair, Trixie gets hit with a wave of nausea.

It doesn’t make sense, she thinks. For all the romantics, real and imagined, she and Katya were never _together_. Katya didn’t want her. Trixie is allowed to have fun with someone she meets at a bar, drunk and riding the wave of a win. Still, she feels sick, and it isn’t just the hangover. It doesn’t make sense — does it?

Katya grabs Trixie’s arm for the third time in an episode and looks at her so deeply that, for a second, Trixie thinks she’s watching a romance movie.

Maybe she’ll never be complete without Katya.

Trixie shifts on the sofa, and she moves around until she decides that she can’t be comfortable here. It’s been hours, she didn’t even realize. She feels empty — literally, like she’s a floating head with limbs barely attached. Her blood is still dangerously thin from the alcohol, and it feels like any bit of water in her body is being sucked away to make up for it. Sitting inside will just make her feel like shit for longer.

She leaves the living room, snags a bottle of water from the kitchen, raises it to her lips. She chugs half of it, puts it down, and goes towards the back of the house. Her guitar is propped up against a wall waiting for her. She takes it with her to the backyard.

A dark wood deck stretches away from the house, grass and plants beyond it. On the deck, she has a lounge chair for tanning and a garden table and chairs looking out into the yard. Trixie sits on the edge of the lounge chair — it’s hot from sitting in the sun, and it warms her cold legs with a shock of heat. She settles down into it, then pulls the guitar onto her lap. She taps out a beat gently on the body, her head nodding along, and then she starts plucking the strings. The plucking turns to strumming, and then she starts to sing.

She goes through her repertoire, ignoring the fact that the songs she picks are on the melancholy side. The music courses through her, the words coming so naturally that she zones out and finishes a song before realizing that she’s still playing. She stops for a moment, clears her throat, and then moves on to _Moving Parts_.

“ _Living’s s’posed to kill you, but it shouldn’t feel like dying. Loving’s s’posed to fill you, but it spills you like you’re wine. And all the paper people, wandering—_ ”

The fence creaks like someone opened the gate. Trixie stops.

“Forget the words to your own song again?”

Trixie squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. She turns around.

There’s Katya, a goofy smirk on her face, teeth shining white in the sun. Her skin is tanner than normal — she looks better than normal, too, her cheeks fuller and her arms toned, tattooed. Despite this, she doesn’t look she’s changed at all; at her core, she’s the weird and wild Katya she was, who she’ll always be. Trixie can’t lie — she’s relieved.

Katya holds a large package in her arms, and when Trixie doesn’t respond, she holds it forward. “This was out front.”

Trixie still doesn’t say anything, so Katya puts it gently on the garden table. She spins a chair around and sits down hesitantly. Trixie watches her — she sees how controlled Katya’s movements are, and Trixie knows she’s in a good headspace because she doesn’t fidget, doesn’t look like a caged animal. She looks comfortable, or as comfortable as she can be when Trixie has been staring at her for five minutes. Katya is probably wondering how Trixie feels, if she’s happy to see her or just angry. Trixie is wondering the same thing about herself.

“Can I make a request?” Katya points at the guitar.

“No.”

Katya retracts her hand slowly and nods.

“So,” Trixie says finally, sighing, “you’re back.”

“Out on good behavior.” The joke doesn’t have any force behind it. Trixie knows it’s true. “I just got in, actually, and I came straight here.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted a warm welcome,” Katya says, and this time it has a little bit of bite.

Trixie looks down. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“But not glad that I'm here?”

“There isn’t a word in the English language that could explain how I feel.” Trixie looks back at Katya. Her eyes are clearer than they were before she left. “But, no, I wouldn’t say ‘glad’ really captures it.”

Katya leans back in her chair and studies Trixie’s face. “You’re angry and hurt. You don’t understand how someone could just throw away their friendships, their career, their life, and for what?”

“Your damn psychology degree,” Trixie says, and the corner of Katya’s mouth lifts.

“I put your career in jeopardy, too. It wasn’t fair of me. You were about to have the most exciting time of your life and I went AWOL.” Katya tilts her head, and Trixie feels so uncomfortable, but she doesn’t mind it. Maybe Katya has some insight on how to make sense of the mess she made. “You look pained. Disgusted, even.”

“If I’m disgusted with anyone, it’s with me, because I’ve been blaming you.” Trixie’s thrown Katya off with that — Katya crosses one leg over the other and wrinkles her brow. “How many years have you been getting sober?”

“Seven.”

Trixie nods. “If you were really in control, you would have beat this by now.”

“And how do you know that, Miss Trixie?” Katya asks.

“Because I know you, and I know how much heart you put into everything. I mean, fuck, that might be why you do it. You want all twenty-four hours in the day, more energy than humanly possible, just so you can put your all into every little thing you do.” Trixie smiles. “Your passion is your best quality.”

Katya rubs the side of her head. “Did you get a psychology degree while I was gone?”

Trixie laughs.

“I just wish you were as passionate about taking care of yourself as you are about everything else,” Trixie says.

“Me too.” Katya smiles. “I’m working on it, I promise.”

Trixie turns her head and looks out into the yard. She has little palm trees planted around the fence, and the palms rustle in the breeze. Her hand brushes on her guitar, and there’s a small clang of metal on metal. Trixie looks down at her hand and remembers the silver ring.

She slips the ring off of her finger. “Here.” She reaches out and offers it to Katya. “I’ve had this since—”

“Palm Springs. I remember.”

“You didn’t back then.”

Katya smiles and takes the ring, slipping it onto her right ring finger. “I saw you wearing it on TV.”

Trixie looks down, feels heat rise up the back of her neck. A white band runs around her right ring finger, a tan line that Trixie didn’t even realize she had gotten.

“I was sad before I was angry.” Trixie says softly. She looks back at Katya, whose eyes are so wide and sincere that she knows that she’s being heard. “You just— you left, you didn’t even tell me, and then when you called me—”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

Trixie continues. “I didn’t call your parents.” Katya looks down, shamed. “I had the final say, though. Ginger wouldn’t do it until I told her she could. There was nothing else we could do, and I was scared.”

“I’m glad you did,” Katya whispers.

“I felt like I was ripped open and no one cared to put me back together. And then there was our show, _All Stars_ , my tour. You were supposed to be there for it all. You didn’t even get to see my show, you weren’t there when I won.” Trixie feels her throat tighten, tears at the corners of her eyes. “I have a lot of friends, Katya. I have a lot of people who love me, a lot of people who I love, and they were there for it. But _you_ were supposed to be there. You were the one I _wanted_ there most.”

A tear glistens at the top of Katya’s cheek, and Trixie wants to wipe it away. Katya does it before she can find the courage to. “There’s nothing I can do to take it all back and make it up to you.”

“Yeah,” Trixie says, “there isn’t.”

Katya nods. They fall into silence, and Trixie plucks a few strings on her guitar to fill the air. The palms still rustle. A neighbor’s car pulls into a garage. Katya sniffles gently, trying to hide it from Trixie, but Trixie can hear it. She looks at Katya from the corner of her eye, and she can’t get over how good Katya looks, sitting there in her white t-shirt and problem-pattern shorts. Her calves and thighs are stronger, too, as is her jaw. Her cheeks are hollow still, but it’s just because of her beautiful bone structure and not the drugs.

Just as Trixie thinks she’d like Katya to stay there, just like _that_ , forever, Katya stands up. She flashes Trixie a gentle smile before turning away. She gets halfway to the gate.

“Where are you going?” Trixie asks. Katya turns around, confused. She lifts an arm absently, unsure what to say. “I heard you sublet your apartment, and I’m guessing you came back earlier than expected.”

“Oh, yeah, I was just gonna go to Ginger’s or Violet’s or something.”

“You can stay here if you want.”

Katya stares at Trixie for a few moments. “Are you sure?” Trixie nods. Katya puts her hands in her pockets. “Well, cool. Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Twenty minutes later, Trixie is putting together a mix of leftovers and snacks for their dinner, the sound of her shower running in the background. No matter how long Katya’s been away, or how much Trixie is hurt, things are still easy with them. Katya knows where everything is in the house, so she didn’t even have to ask before taking the extra set of towels from the hall closet and pulling out the stash of travel-sized bottles to use.

Trixie can fill her time thinking instead. It feels like every emotion she felt over the last few months has disappeared, but the feelings have been scarred into her. She knows it’s going to take a long time to heal. She also knows that Katya will give her that time.

She eats the leftover fries she warmed up and snacks on half of a ham sandwich, figuring Katya won’t mind if she eats without her. She scrolls through her phone, opening apps and then closing them moments later. She doesn’t really want to be on her phone; she’d rather be with Katya, laughing, crying, hashing things out. She’s sat with her feelings for too long.

Trixie left her guitar on the kitchen counter, and she’s just antsy, but it’s bothering her. She picks it up by the neck and carries it to her room. The guitar stand is in the far corner of the room, and she goes in slowly. The bathroom door is cracked open, letting light in.

The shower stops running, and before Trixie can turn around, Katya steps out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She pauses for a moment but carries on to the closet. Trixie looks, then, and her mouth opens a little. She lets out a breath.

She’s seen Katya without clothes on before, but it always feels like it’s the first time. There’s something new for Trixie to find each time, and something she remembers and has grown to love. The curve of Katya’s shoulders has always been entrancing, and she mentally traces them and it’s so familiar it hurts. Now, she notices the tight muscles of Katya’s forearms, how strong they are, how they stand out more than before.

Katya looks at the top of the closet.

“On the left,” Trixie says.

Katya follows her directions. “Ah.” She reaches up and grasps a pink plastic bin, pulling it down carefully. There are two piles of Katya’s clothes, washed and folded neatly. Katya picks up one pile. Trixie decides it’s time to leave.

She goes back to the living room, but stops at the hall closet to get a set of sheets and a blanket. She snags a pretzel before going to the sofa, chews and then starts tucking the sheets into the sofa cushions. She feels Katya’s presence behind her, hears her munching on food.

“Is that for me?” she asks, mouth full.

Trixie stands up, satisfied with the makeshift bed. “No, you can take my bed. I’m fine out here.”

“Absolutely not,” Katya says. “I didn’t come here to kick you out of your own bed.”

“My bed is more comfortable.”

“Mama, this sofa looks more comfortable than what I’ve been sleeping on.”

Trixie crosses her arms, lays down on the sofa, and pulls the blanket over her body.

“Fine.” Katya sits on the floor, her back against the coffee table. She looks up at Trixie. “This what you wanted?”

Trixie pouts. “I’m not moving.”

Katya watches her for a moment, smiles but then stops herself. “Okay. Neither am I.” She twirls her ring on her finger the way Trixie did.

“What was it like?” Trixie asks softly. Katya rolls her head back gently, stares at the ceiling. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, but the coffee table is so close to the sofa she has to do a split.

“I have never felt so wired, Trix. It was just weed at first, and, _fuck_ , that weed was real.” She picks at a piece of lint on her grey joggers. “And then there was meth, and speed, and workout pills. I was going so fast that at some point I just lost it. I didn’t know what day it was, sometimes what year it was. I would sit down to watch TV and wake up ten hours later with no idea that I had fallen asleep. My brain was being pulled in ten different directions and I was trying to do multiple things and exist in multiple places all at once. I couldn’t even feel my body— like my body was literally falling apart and I couldn’t tell.”

Trixie takes a deep breath. She remembers seeing it all from the outside — the way Katya spoke, faster than ever, and how her eyes would dart around all the time.

“Did it hurt?” Trixie asks, and when she sees Katya’s confused look, she clarifies. “When you came down, and when you got sober— what does it feel like?”

Katya thinks for a moment. “It feels like going full force at the gym, hungover, when your muscles are already sore.”

The memory of her hangover from the morning flashes through Trixie’s body and she groans.

“Is it worth it?”

“Depends.” Katya shrugs. “I know it’s not worth it, because I know where it gets me — feeling like death a thousand times over — but every time I start I think that, because I survived all the times before, I can handle it.”

Trixie nods. She knows the cycle, learned it well from her abusive ex in college. She looks into Katya’s blue-green eyes — God, she missed those eyes, the way they stare at her so intensely and make her feel like no one else in the world matters more than her.

“How’s Ginger?” Katya suddenly asks.

“She’s good, tired from the tour. Does she know you’re back?”

Katya shakes her head. “I figured I would let her know if I were going to stay with her, but…” She gestures around the room.

“Oh, you’re so going to get bitch slapped when she finds out, Brenda. She’s gonna be so mad you didn’t call. I hope you’re in shape because you’re gonna have to run for your life,” Trixie says.

Katya laughs, high pitched at first and then that wheezing, breathy laugh that never fails to set Trixie off. Even she can’t contain her shout of amusement. Katya reaches up and grabs Trixie’s wrist, just for a moment, just like old times. Then, she’s serious again.

“I love Ginger, but there were more important things today.” She’s staring at Trixie, and Trixie realizes she moved closer, just barely. She’s hyper-aware of Katya’s every move. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about today. Well, I’ve been meaning to talk about it for a long time, but I guess that’s neither here nor there…”

Trixie knows Katya’s stalling, and maybe because Trixie is sick of missed opportunities, or maybe because she’s afraid she’ll lose Katya at any moment, she forces Katya to focus.

“Tell me.”

Katya looks back at Trixie, a bit shocked. She clears her throat, waits a moment, takes a breath.

“I didn’t kiss you because I was on drugs.”

Trixie feels like she’s been punched in the chest. And in the gut, because suddenly her stomach hurts. She feels like she’s plummeting over a hill that she’s been climbing for four years, and she isn’t sure yet if there’s going to be something at the bottom to catch her.

“Well,” Katya continues, “I did kiss you because I was on drugs, but the drugs didn’t make me do it, they— they helped me do it. I’d been wanting to do it for _so_ long, and you had been gone. When you walked out of that hotel you were practically glistening you looked so good, and I finally got the courage to do it.”

Trixie realizes that her mouth has been open, and it’s suddenly very dry. “You didn’t… say anything, you just pretended like it never happened.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Trixie wants to scream.

“At first, I just thought that I had messed up, because you didn’t really react,” Katya says. “Then, I got worried that it was too out of nowhere and you’d reject me. And the back-on-the-wagon thing didn’t help, either. Drug-induced confidence is short lived, Mary, and I lost it as soon as I had it.” She looks down. “I realized I wasn’t worth it, I wasn’t good enough. Not when I was using.”

Katya’s crying — Trixie can hear it in her voice — but instead of consoling her, Trixie laughs.

“You stupid, fucking idiot,” Trixie says. She laughs again. “How much more did you need? I mean, I’m not going to say I was dropping hints, but I know how obvious I can be. Do you need me to roll the tapes, show you the videos like a football coach? Do you want me to draw circles?”

Katya looks confused, and Trixie can’t blame her. She has no idea what she’s saying at this point. She’s dreamed of this moment, almost had it come true once before, and suddenly all those scenarios where she said the perfect thing are gone.

Trixie sits up. “I love you. God, I _fucking_ love you. I loved you when I met you and I loved you when we talked on the phone, before we saw each other in person again. I’ve loved you this whole time, and then you left me.” She stops, looks away. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to love you."

Trixie doesn’t realize that she’s crying until Katya hops up onto her knees, her face level with Trixie’s. She wipes the tears away one cheek at a time, shushing her.

“Hey, no. No tears on that pretty face.” Katya smiles. “It’s my fault, you’re right. I left, but I’m here. You get to love me now, if you still want to.”

Trixie sniffles. “Of course I want to fucking love you.”

“That can be arranged.”

Katya smiles, and she waits for Trixie to smile, too. It takes a minute, but how can Trixie not smile when that perfect, happy face is in front of her? That perfect, happy face that she wants to kiss—

She isn’t sure who initiates it, but it doesn’t matter, because Katya’s lips are on hers. It feels like all the times before and so much more; the others feel like mere dreams compared to this one, this one that is real and strong.

Trixie pulls Katya up from the floor and shoves away the blanket so Katya can sit. They are never more than a whisper apart, even when Katya urges Trixie to lie back on the sofa. Katya hovers over her, pressing into her in all the right places. Trixie lifts off Katya’s black t-shirt and discards it over the back of the sofa. Her body is smooth and warm. Trixie finds the places on Katya’s body where she’s supposed to fit and doesn’t let go.

Katya stops kissing her, just for a moment, to look at her. Her face is softer than ever, not a worry line in sight.

“Can we go to my bed, now?” Trixie whispers.

Katya lifts her body up. “Thank god, I thought your stubborn ass was going to make us do this here.” She stands and reaches her hand down to pull Trixie up, leads the way to the bedroom like it’s her own home.

The sheets are tangled somewhere at the bottom of the bed, and Trixie is thankful. She doesn’t need to be dripping with sweat — well, not anymore. Katya is tucked into her side, gently pressing her hand to Trixie’s chest, her neck, her face. She kisses Trixie’s shoulder.

The lights are low, their breaths are slow, bodies calm. It’s serene — until Katya’s stomach rumbles. She looks up at Trixie, cringing.

“I didn’t really eat the food you put out,” Katya says.

Trixie realizes how hungry she is, then. “Me either.” She gets out of bed, ignoring Katya’s whine, and summons her. “Come on.”

They go into the kitchen and Trixie fills two glasses of water before digging around in her refrigerator. There’s some fruit and yogurt, but not much else. She takes them out and turns around, putting them on the counter.

“Chobani? You look like a damn suburban wife.” Katya laughs, her whole body shaking.

Trixie shrugs. “Maybe it’s my calling.”

Katya takes a yogurt, pulling a spoon out of a drawer, and lifts the top off. She leans against the counter, staring absently ahead of her. Then, her gaze shifts.

“Hey, are you gonna open that?” Katya asks. She points at the box, sitting on the counter, untouched from when Katya brought it in.

“Oh,” Trixie says, “I guess.” She takes a sharp knife out of a drawer and rounds the counter.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, I will.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “That’s a felony.” She cuts open the tape and lifts the flaps of the box up, revealing heaps of packing peanuts. She looks at Katya, a little wary of what’s inside, before sticking her hand in.

Whatever it is, it’s sharp — there’s some sort of point, and a bunch of bumps on it. She puts her other hand in, grasps something stable, and then lifts it out of the box. Thousands of beads of light glint off of it, and both Trixie and Katya gasp.

The _All Stars_ crown.

“It’s… beautiful,” Katya says.

“It really is.”

Katya reaches for it. “Can I touch it?”

“Hey, hey, it’s my crown,” Trixie says.

“Didn’t you hear?” Katya asks. “I was robbed, so by transitive property I have a right to it.”

Trixie ignores her and lifts it to the top of her head. It fits, albeit poorly, and she shakily balances it on top of her head.

Katya starts looking around. “Where’s my phone? Damnit, I need to take a picture of this.” She holds her finger up, dashes out of the kitchen. In seconds, she’s back, phone in hand.

Trixie tries to squirm away, but the crown starts to tilt and she stops. “Katya, I’m literally naked.”

“We’ll take clothed photos tomorrow.” She’s focused on her phone, getting different angles and changing the orientation. Trixie laughs.

“Okay, enough,” Trixie says. She reaches up and gently takes the crown from her head. She places it on the counter. The jewels clink against the granite.

Trixie lets out a breath and stares at the crown. Katya comes beside her and wraps a hand around her waist.

“I love you,” Katya says.

Trixie feels her knees go weak. She never thought she’d hear that. “I love you, Katya.”

“I know I wasn’t here for the real deal,” Katya says, “but at least I got to see this.”

Trixie looks at her, and for a moment she’s afraid that it’s all a dream, that she’ll wake up and Katya will still be in Arizona, or worse — still mad at her. She kisses Katya to make sure it’s real.

It is.

Trixie shuffles her feet against the dirty sidewalk. A man passes her, giving her a sidelong glance. It’s moments like these that she wishes she smoked — at least it would give her a reason to be loitering outside of a municipal building on a Saturday afternoon. She scratches her neck and pulls her phone out of her back pocket. 11:57.

“Come on,” she mutters.

These people really have to be on the dot, don’t they.

She paces again, looks at the sky, taps her fingers on her leg. She looks crazy, she knows, but she’s basically going crazy. Then, the doors to the building open, and Trixie turns around. A few people walk out, squinting and shielding their eyes from the sun. Trixie feels a rush of air conditioning sweep out of the building, and with it comes Katya. She’s not a foot out the door before she sees Trixie, and a big smile splits across her face.

“Hi, baby,” Katya says, wrapping an arm around Trixie and kissing her.

“Hey, how’d it go? Did you cry again?”

“Always.”

They start walking down the street, Katya’s arm around Trixie’s shoulder, Trixie’s arm fitted around Katya’s waist. They stop at the corner and wait for the pedestrian light to turn green. A car zooms by, blowing dust up into the air. The exhaust ripples in front of them. The light turns green, and they walk forward.

“Are you still up for burgers?” Trixie asks.

“If it’s good with you,” Katya says.

Trixie nods. “Of course.”

They go to a restaurant a few blocks away, one with a patio and big garage doors that make the restaurant open-air when it’s nice out. Trixie gets them a table while Katya goes to the bathroom, and she waits for her on the patio. She taps her finger on the table, scanning the menu.

Katya weaves through tables, reaching Trixie and kissing the top of her head before sitting down. She looks at the menu, too. By now, Trixie knows what she wants, so she watches Katya instead. She traces the lines of her face, the column of her neck, adding this moment to her growing album of memories.

Katya points at her menu. “Oof, that shake looks great.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Katya doesn’t hear her at first, so she hums in response. Then, she looks up, brow wrinkled.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m proud of you,” Trixie says. “It’s been three months since you got back, you haven’t missed a meeting, you’re working again.” She reaches across the table and takes Katya’s hand. “I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

Katya smiles. “I love you.” She squeezes Trixie’s hand. “Hey, I’m proud of you, too. The new album is gonna be great.”

“Yeah, I think it is.”

“Look at you, being all positive,” Katya says.

Trixie shrugs. “I have a really good feeling about this one.”

“Which songs are about me?”

“All of them,” Trixie says.

Katya laughs and shakes Trixie’s hand. “I’m serious, Barbara.”

“Me too.”

A glimmer of sunlight flashes off of a car, and for a second Trixie thinks she’s died and gone to heaven, because she’s sure that this is what she’d see. Katya is happy, relaxed, smiling. She’s holding Trixie’s hand, kissing it. Each moment of her life, all the different paths, every string has woven together to create this golden shroud that Trixie is happy to wrap around herself and keep forever.

Suddenly, she has the title for her next album.


End file.
